trulyoracular | (no subject)

(no subject)

Sometimes, when Olaf leaves the hotel, he forgets little things.

Toothpaste, a glass of half-finished alcohol, and on the tiniest of occasions, he forgets that he's also left a door open that leads right back to Auckland. This is the case right now because he'd been in such a hurry to get back to the bar (where everyone is sitting around and discussing how one of the giants has abducted Gaia), there's a portal leading to another world all-together.

Normally, this might not be such a big deal.

Olaf does have trouble keeping perspective of the big deals sometimes and this is one of those times when he forgets that there are other Norse gods in the hotel that might be waiting to pop out and it's his idea to call Thor, true, but which one? And he can't exactly say 'which one' in front of the family or they'll think he's really gone around the bend.

So instead of worrying? He drinks.

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"Two of me. You don't say," Loki said, sounding a lot more bored than he was. In reality, his attention snapped right to the forefront. Where was he? This didn't feel like a particularly magical world. The energies didn't feel quite right.

Loki looked at the bottle, but didn't drink from it just yet. Not that he particularly had a problem with it, but sometimes he liked to take on airs, usually in response to Thor's barbaric tendencies. "I am Loki, of Asgard. Who are you? Has my brother been speaking with you? He has some rather strange ideas, I must tell you."

Right. He's forgotten that bit, hasn't he? Olaf forgets that when he has the future, past, and present filtering into his brain that he has to actually say it out loud so everyone is on the same page. "Baldr of Hawke's Bay, better known as Olaf Johnson. Who's your..." He blinks when the information comes to him before he asks the question. "Not good," he insists, grabbing for the vodka. "Very not good."

Loki raised his eyebrows at Olaf, kept his grip on the vodka, and pulled his arm back in classic keep-away pose. "Stop drinking and start talking," he said. His voice was even and pleasant and charming, but a little too much so, making it obvious that there was something sharp hiding underneath the words. "Before I go back in there and start backslapping and hugging everyone, and then invite a few more guests from the hotel in." He wasn't really angry, in fact he was still amused, but he was curious and not interested in beating around the bush, as it were. "How do you know me?"

Olaf sighs.

It feels like the smartest thing to do when confronted with a second version of Loki who, frankly, feels more dangerous than the first and given that Olaf knows very well the lengths and depths of Colin Gunderson, that's saying something. "I don't know you, exactly," Olaf confesses. "I know Loki; a Loki to be precise. That said," he admits, "typically, being an oracle brings along a whole lot more knowing than I know how to deal with, usually. Hence, the vodka."

The thought he might have entered a parallel universe, where there was another version of him, was both interesting and threatening. If there was another Loki here with enough similarities to himself, he could be looking at an ally or, more likely, an enemy. He'd grown up with Thor to the point where he had developed a faint competitive streak which, despite efforts to rise above it, tended to take hold every now and then.

At the same time, he greatly wanted to see what was going on. And the mention of the word 'oracle' could make any sorcerer pause for a moment. "What sort of oracle are you? Do you predict events, or do you sense destiny? And if I go back out there and introduce myself will someone punch you?"

"I know shit," is Olaf's best explanation for his oracular abilities. He shrugs, like he shouldn't actually be knowing where any of this comes from. "Every family's got one, even if it isn't blood family. And honestly, I get whatever the universe gives me, and then I..." He gestures with both hands, brows furrowed. "Intuit."

"If you go downstairs and introduce yourself, you might end up with a hammer in your head, an icy hand or two on you, and...whatever bullshit Anders will say," he says.

"I don't have enough fingers to count how many times I've gotten a hammer to the head," Loki said, dryly. "It's practically a hobby."

Deciding he may as well be nice since he had already been unpleasant (sort of), he gave the vodka back. "So you don't actually know me, but just what I am," he said. "So you're unaware that... Well, you're unaware, aren't you." Unless there was a powerful sorcerer or an army base nearby, Loki was pretty certain he could wander about unchecked for the time being. That was incredibly tempting.

"I'm aware that you're Loki of Asgard," is all Olaf knows about the situation at the moment because the universe isn't making anything truly clear with any speed. "What exactly should I know?"

"Nothing," Loki said, with a calm blink, and a smile that was purposefully created to make Olaf think the exact opposite. When he wanted to lie he did it well (God of Lies, after all) but this was clearly not one of those moments. "What should I know?"

And that's really the question of the hour. After all, what does Olaf know? Still, if this is Loki of Asgard, then he ought to know. "Well, he's the situation. "Eggther the Giant has kidnapped Zeb the mortal, who likes to think of himself as Freki, and is holding him hostage because Brynn, another giant, didn't kill the child of a Norse god and a Maori goddess when he had the chance. Said child could be Frigg," Olaf says. "Which could mean Odin will unite with her and we all get our powers back. Which also means our Loki could get up to a lot of shit."

Olaf winces, all the information making his head hurt. "Is it too sober in here or is it just me?" he wonders, swigging back the vodka.

Loki tipped his head to the side, his expression changing in minuscule amounts as Olaf spoke, until it finally rested into one of puzzled amusement. "So," he said. "Is regaining your true abilities what you want to happen, or would you rather avoid all that messiness?" If there was another Loki about who didn't have his abilities, and could possibly get them again... Well. Wouldn't that be something he would rather avoid? "And what's the likelihood of that even occurring?"

"Truthfully, no one knows what happens when Odin and Frigg...well, do the nasty," Olaf says, feeling like they're both adults. "Knock boots? Slides his godly shaft into her cave of goddessly goodness? And Loki's got enough up his sleeve," Olaf assures. "Which means you probably do, too, but you haven't tried to kill my family."

"Yet."

"Yet," Loki agreed, readily enough.

Being an irritant, after all, was something he was good at - maybe that was why he had so few friends. In any case, he didn't think Olaf would be able to give him anymore information. Unless Olaf wanted to talk about himself, but just then (most of the time, actually) Loki really couldn't care less.

"I think I will go and say hello properly," he said, mildly. "Full introductions and all."

Olaf gets a bit quieter, a little darker, and he looks at Loki in a way that suggests he's having a very, very bad premonition of how that's going to go. "It's not going to go well. Between Ty and Mike, you might barely get out of there alive. Add in Thor?" Olaf snorts darkly. "Good luck."

Actually, there's a part of Olaf that wouldn't mind watching that.

"Or, you know, have at."

Loki smiled. Almost curiously, wondering at how his abilities might translate - world hopping had never bothered him before, but you never knew - he reached a single finger out and touched it to Olaf's bottle. He had originally meant to simply make it cold. But as soon as he realized he could do that without a problem, he made it shatter in the other man's hand. Not explosively; it just fell apart.

"You should come along," he said, turning away and beginning to head back down the stairs. "You're out of vodka."

Olaf breathed in sharply and watched Loki go for a minute. He debated doing something to potentially warn the rest of them, but the best idea he had was shouting 'Fire' as loudly as he could. Given their Loki's abilities, it might actually come to pass, but the family was too sluggish and drunk to do anything.

"Your funeral," Olaf mutters, stumbling slightly drunkenly as he follows.

Loki slowed so that Olaf could catch up. "You needn't worry," he said. "I'm hostile, not uncivilized. Just make sure no one throws a hammer at my head, and we should be fine."

In reality, if Loki could cause trouble, he would, of course. But he would need clearer information than the stuff that had been coming out of Olaf's mouth.

Olaf can't promise that.

"Of course," he says soothingly and with an easy smile, given that no one's ever asked him to be anything but fluid with his words. "What about very large swords? Where do those fall in the acceptable projectile range?"

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